Mistress Gaila
by HazardTape
Summary: Post-lockdown, Gaila is NOT happy that McCoy punished her without provocation. Heed the rating!


HazardTape doesn't own ST or the characters –we just write them having lots and lots of sex. Heed the rating – light bondage contained below. Please note that in real life bondage play a safe word is ESSENTIAL. Please play safely everyone!

_**Mistress Gaila or The Punishment of Leonard H. McCoy by HazardTape**_

Leonard McCoy - doctor, Southern gentleman, grump extraordinaire - walked into his quarters to find a vision standing in front of him.

"What the hell, Gaila?" he demanded.

Gaila - computer genius, Orion, carnal goddess - stared back at him evenly.

"You punished me without cause, Doctor."

"What?" he snarled, his eyes roaming from her thigh-high boots to her corseted torso right up to her unruly curls.

"You spanked me for causing the orgy; however, as we now know, it wasn't my fault," she said, the staccato rhythm of her words falling like mini-blows.

"You confessed! You turned yourself over to me. Not my fault."

"Was, too," she said, her hands fixed on her hips, one toe tapping impatiently on the floor; he noticed that she wasn't wearing panties. "You're the doctor. You should know better than to take anything I say at face value. You should've done some research."

"In the middle of an orgy? Are you out of your Orion mind?"

She held up a hand - a gloved hand. "The conversation is done. It's time to move this along."

"Gaila, I'm a doctor, not a dungeon master."

"Of course you're not," she said, slinking forward on six inch heels - he had no idea how she was able to walk in them, let alone walk like_that_ in them. "You aren't the Master of anything; I'm the Mistress."

He opened his mouth, but she laid a finger over his lips. "First lesson, you don't speak until I tell you to. Understand?"

"Ga-"

She tapped his lips a little harder; the leather was harder than skin and it almost hurt. "I didn't give you permission to speak, my little dirty boy."

He narrowed his eyes at her even as his cock stirred appreciatively. He wasn't at all sure he liked where this was going. Mostly.

"Don't narrow your eyes at me, boy," she said, tipping her head and raking her eyes up and down his long frame. "That's insubordination, and Mistress Gaila does not appreciate insubordination. Do you understand? You may give a one word answer."

McCoy warred with himself. He wanted her - hadn't really thought about much else except having her again - but he didn't want it to be this way. He was pretty sure.

"No," he ground out.

She sighed and shook her head, schooling her exquisite features into an expression of sadness. "That was not the right answer."

"I don't care."

"Leonard McCoy, I do believe you are asking for serious trouble right now. Is that what you want? Trouble on top of the punishment? One word answers only."

"I want you," he said, anger and arousal making him reckless.

Her slate blue eyes flared with heat, then she banked it back. "But you don't get to have me. Not yet. You were a naughty boy and, as we both know, naughty people get punished on this starship."

"Look…."

She reached behind him and gave him a resounding slap on his left ass cheek. Shocked, he stopped talking and stared at her, open mouthed.

"Now, I know that was a little harder than you gave me, dirty boy, but you need to learn. Do. Not. Speak. Without. Permission."

He was ninety percent sure he could take her, could just force her down to the floor and pound away at her until they both forgot about the last five minutes. But he was worried about the other ten percent and what might happen if he lost.

He glowered at her, but remained silent.

"Better," she said musingly, caressing the planes of his face with one gloved finger. "So handsome, so beautiful - and all mine."

She backed towards his bed and he noticed there were additions to it - four leather straps with buckles, two at the head of the bed and two at the foot.

He gulped.

She undulated her way onto the bed - there was no other way to describe it - and lay propped on her elbows, her eyes fixed on him. "Time to undress for me, dirty boy. And make sure to do it slowly."

Revolt filled his soul - he could definitely take her now. She was already on her back on his bed. But…there was another part of him that wanted to do what she said. To follow her lead. To undress for her - to show off his body a bit. She hadn't really seen it that day on the bridge.

In a single violent motion he yanked his uniform and under shirts off and threw them into the corner of the room. Her eyes roamed his chest and he suppressed a smile. He may not be as young as her other lovers, but he was in excellent shape - manhood in its prime. Her tongue flicked over her lips. He wanted to groan, but he figured any vocalizations were against the rules.

He ran his fingers through his hair, making sure to flex his arm and chest muscles while he did it. He stared at her, his mouth slightly open.

She blinked stupidly, then pulled herself together. "Acceptable," she pronounced, though her voice was a little higher than usual. "Continue."

He smiled wickedly, and strutted over to a chair. She watched his movements warily, no doubt trying to decide if he deserved further correction. He wasn't sure if he was trying to avoid punishment or courting it.

He sat down on the chair, spreading his legs wide, and stared at her through half-lidded eyes. He held the gaze long enough for her eyes to narrow - obviously he was being naughty again - then he hooked one ankle over the other knee and slowly unzipped his boot and pulled it off. He dropped it to the floor beside him and stretched his leg out in front of him.

"I said continue," she ground out, but she didn't look at all angry. No, she looked famished - ravenous. He wondered if she'd hold out or if she'd cross the room in five provocative strides and drop to her knees between his legs…

He blinked, trying to keep his head. He was already in the middle of a fantasy; what the hell was he doing?

She was tapping her fingers against his mattress and, yes, she was looking annoyed.

McCoy disposed of the other boot more quickly, then leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs, looking for all the galaxy like he was waiting for instruction and not trying to tease and tantalize her – like he was being obedient, not hoping for a little bit of discipline by the intoxicating Mistress Gaila.

She stood, just as gracefully and breathtakingly as she'd lain down, and walked over to him. Len leaned back in the chair, waiting to see what she'd do to him.

She stopped when the toes of her boots were touching his bare toes and she leaned over him. Her hair formed a fragrant curtain around them; her enormous, luminous eyes bored into his.

"You are sorely testing my patience, slave."

"I'm not your slave," he shot back, even though he was starting to realize that maybe he was.

She tapped his lips again, and this time it stung. "You are very stubborn. Now, I command you to finish undressing."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Or I'll leave, simple as that," she said, pulling her body away from his. He resisted the urge to grab her – to beg – to do or say anything to keep her from leaving.

She backed up four steps and crossed her arms under her breasts; the mouth-watering mounds above the cups of the corset became even more pronounced.

He needed to taste them, need to touch and suck them. And he couldn't do any of that if she left.

Shaking, he rose and slowly undid his pants, sliding them down his legs, wondering what she was going to say about the fact that he wasn't wearing underwear.

She made a predatory sound in the back of her throat, and then she was back, so close to him he could feel the heat of her body. She was touching his straining flesh with her gloved hand and it was unbelievably good.

"You really are a naughty, naughty boy," she murmured, her eyes fixed on her stroking hand and his hard cock. "Do you always parade around the ship like this? One word answer."

"Mostly," he said, trying to keep some control over his power of speech. It was very, very difficult.

"So much discipline needed," she sighed, releasing his cock and taking his hand. She led him to the bed.

"Lie down on your stomach, please."

He did as she asked, carefully, reluctantly. The friction of the sheet against his hardness was incredible. He took shallow breaths, trying to keep from spending outside of her.

He felt her fasten the restraints around his wrists and ankles; his cock throbbed. He began to think of his ex-wife, of medical school, of anything that would calm him down.

She didn't join him and he craned his neck to try to see her. She was undressing, a dreamy look on her face as her perfect body was released from the confining clothing. She caught him looking and smiled wantonly; she bent over and unzipped the boots. The sound of the zipper made him more than a little crazy. He wished she had let him do that with his teeth.

He swallowed. Ex-wife, medical school, lungworm.

She stepped out of the boots and fluffed her hair, then she disappeared.

Len had a brief, terrified thought that she had left him alone; then he felt the end of the bed dip and her fingers - her skin, not the leather - trace the muscles of his back, her fingernails scratching gently down his spine. He groaned before he could bite it back.

"That's okay, slave. You can express how much my touch pleases you." Her fingers continued lower, across the globes of his ass - then between.

She stroked gently, then circled around the small, tight hole. "I understand that you enjoyed it when Coop took you here." McCoy whimpered his assent; there was no denying that. "I'll take that as a yes," she said, her finger still circling, "and that makes you the dirtiest boy I've ever known."

He sincerely doubted that, but he wasn't going to argue with her. He wondered if pushing back towards that wandering finger would get him in trouble.

The finger disappeared, but was immediately replaced by the cool, liquid sensation of lube. McCoy grasped the restraints in his hands and screwed his eyes shut. He wanted to feel every second of this.

She was making soothing noises - completely unnecessary, but pleasant all the same - as she eased a finger into him. It was nothing compared to the blunt pressure and exquisite fullness of having Coop inside him, but her presence - her smell, her noises - made it intensely satisfying. His cock twitched appreciatively.

"So, so naughty, liking this," she murmured, deliberately pushing forward and pulling back. She wasn't searching for a rhythm, was just torturing his ass with the not-quite-enough pressure, the nowhere-near-fast enough tempo. She was toying with him - keeping him on the razor's edge of arousal.

He whimpered.

"What?" she asked, her free hand stroking the length of his spine. "Is something wrong?"

He didn't respond; she hadn't given him permission.

Her laughter was like music. "So you can learn, Len. You may answer me."

"Nothing's wrong," he ground out. Maybe if he just pressed his cock against the sheets it would be better - over - even if it wasn't in her.

She removed her finger and leaned forward, covering his body with hers, pinning him down. It was like she'd known what he was thinking.

"Are you ready to turn over? One word answer," she whispered directly into his left ear. The heat of her breath set his skin aflame.

"Gods, yes."

She sat back up and smacked his ass, hard. It stung like a sonofabitch and he didn't even care.

"That was two words, slave. Just when I thought you were learning. Ah well, I guess the restraints are staying on."

He almost started humping the mattress at her words. She wasn't going to let him turn over, wasn't going to let him come. It was the worst torture imaginable.

"Listen, and listen good," she continued before he could enact his plan. "I'm going to release you and you are going to turn over and let me refasten the buckles. You are not going to touch me. You aren't going to even try. Understood?" Her hands ran gently, maddeningly, over the skin of his ass.

He waited through the too-gentle caresses for her to tell him he could speak.

The feathery touches continued for several seconds, the only sounds his labored breathing and her light, even exaltations. He heard her take a breath, then say, "You may tell me if you understand. One word answer only."

"Yes," he whispered. He'd never wanted anyone or anything as much as he wanted her. He would've said anything to have her.

He felt her unbuckle the restraints and then pull at his hip, prompting him to turn over. He did so, making sure to keep his arms above his head and his ankles spread. She refastened the restraints quickly, but the sight of her crimson curls drifting towards the lower half of his body almost did him in. It was only the thought of being inside her when he came that kept him from spurting into the air.

She crawled back up his body, brushing her liquid heat over his fevered flesh on the journey. She settled her thighs on either side of his face and lowered herself down to his mouth. He was greedy, grasping - suckling at her for all he was worth. Without the use of his hands he couldn't grab her closer, and she made him work for every taste. She would move away from him, making him strain upwards to reach his goal.

She was sweet, intoxicating - the most mellow brandy mixed with the sweetest fruit he'd ever tasted. It wasn't enough. He wanted to grab her hips and lose himself in her flavor.

As if from a great distance he could hear the subtle sounds of the restraints being pulled. But they held.

She was gasping above him, moving and grinding - she wasn't leaving his mouth, was taking every sensation he was giving her. He knew she was going to climax and he couldn't wait.

Then she was gone. He blinked dumbly, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong. In the next instant he realized he hadn't done anything wrong because she was lowering herself onto him, encasing him.

His legs strained at the fetters, trying to gain range of motion so he could thrust up into her, bury himself into her.

It was impossible. He groaned.

She held still, impaled on him, and stared. He met her eyes.

"Ready, Len?"

He was going to nod, but his eyes slipped to her lips and he lost focus on everything else. He wanted to kiss her; God knew he hadn't that endless day on the bridge. He stared at her lips - bright red and alluring, imaging how her mouth would taste. He knew it would be sweeter even than her pussy.

"Len?" she said.

He couldn't look away from her lips.

She slowly, deliberately, unfastened the restraints at his wrists. "You ma-" she began, but the rest of her assent was swallowed in his kiss. He held her face gently even as he ravaged her mouth with his tongue and teeth.

He'd been right - her mouth was sweeter than anything he'd ever tasted.

She kept kissing him, her fingers twisted tightly in his hair, even as her hips began to move, to pound down, to push him past the brink. He came, screaming into her mouth.

She continued moving even after he screamed his completion, using his pulsing body to create friction. When she came, she was quieter, her soft cries swallowed by his kisses. Throughout it all she hung onto him tightly, the torque on his hair almost - but nowhere near - enough to diminish the pulsing ecstasy still coursing through his body.

Spent, she fell boneless beside him. He sat up and undid the ankle restraints, then bent his big body around her small one.

"You're a cuddler?" she asked, surprise warring with exhaustion in her voice.

He fumbled for the covers and pulled them up, taking care to cover her completely.

"I'm lots of things, Gaila," he said, kissing her cheek softly. He couldn't wait to show her.


End file.
